


Can The Child Within My Heart Rise Above?

by snnycarisi



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Richie Tozier, Coming Out, Flashbacks, M/M, Stanley Uris Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:37:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snnycarisi/pseuds/snnycarisi
Summary: “And yeah, I’m gonna be really honest for this whole press conference- gross, right?” the crowd chuckled nervously, clearly unsure what kind of honesty they were about to receive. “Yeah, I don’t like it either. But I owe it to myself, that honesty. I haven’t let myself be honest in, well, the past thirty or so years.”----Where Richie calls a press conference after coming back from Derry to explain his absence
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 119





	Can The Child Within My Heart Rise Above?

Even from backstage, the sound of camera shutters and excited chatter forced themselves into Richie’s ears. If it was this loud out here, he might go  _ deaf  _ up there. Jesus, he’d always hated the press- not that they had really bothered him before last summer, being barely a C-list celebrity- but now he felt that anger flowing through him. They were invading his privacy, forcing him to get up on stage and say this, tell the whole world exactly what he was thinking and feeling, tell them why he had fallen off the face of the Earth for the past few months. 

Then he remembered what his new therapist had told him; he wasn’t angry, he was just scared. And he supposed that was probably true, he was terrified. Terrified for everyone to find out the secret he’d been hiding for what felt like his whole life. 

It was no secret he was going through _something_ - well, it was obvious if you’d seen the footage of his last show, which seemingly everyone on the planet had- but Richie doubted anyone in that audience knew what exactly it was that he was dealing with. He suspected they were waiting for the, _Comedian Richie Tozier Speaks Up About Substance Abuse_ headline, or even, _Washed Up Richie Tozier Tells All About Lung Cancer Diagnosis- Should Have Stayed Away From The Cigarettes, Trashmouth!_ Those probably would have been more interesting. 

Obviously he wouldn’t tell the whole story, he didn’t need to appear more unstable than he already did, but this was a start. This was healing, or so he was told. 

Bev squeezed his arm lightly, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I’m proud of you, Richie. You’ve got this.” she whispered. Richie was incredibly grateful for her presence, he wasn't sure if he’d be able to go out on stage without her there. 

“Two minutes, Rich. You good to go?” his manager approached him, dread apparent in his eyes. That wasn’t exactly fair- Dave had been very supportive of Richie’s…  _ journey _ these past few months. He was a good man, and he cared about Richie for more than just the revenue he brought in. It was understandable for him to be nervous, especially after the last time they had been in almost the exact same position. 

“Good and groovy my friend,” Richie replied, his voice shaking slightly. “God, what the fuck am I saying? What the fuck?”

Dave sighed. “We can call this off, if you want, but honestly? This is your last chance to win them-” he gestured to the audience, “back. Whatever happens up there, Richie, I’ll support you. Hell, I’ll even help you pack your bags and run to Canada if it goes really sour,” Richie supposed this was meant to make him laugh. It didn’t. “But I reckon you’ll be alright. Just turn on the charm and convince them you’re not nuts, that’s all you gotta do.”

_ Easier said than done _ , he thought. Still, he smiled sheepishly and replied, “Yeah. Yeah I can do that. Thanks.” 

“Alright.” Dave punched his shoulder lightly and left him and Bev alone. 

Two minutes. Two minutes left of privacy. Two minutes left of the world thinking he was the good ol’ hetrosexual he had built his career around being. 

“Remember the deal?” Bev asked softly. 

“Deal?” Richie tried, really tried to focus and think of what this deal was, but all he could see was the stage technician in front of him, holding up one finger and mouthing  _ one minute _ . 

“With Ben?” 

“Oh, that deal.” he did remember. In the crowd, amidst the chaos of cameras and microphones and yelling journalists, Ben was sitting, giving Richie something familiar and comforting to look at if he got nervous. He was once again reminded that he had the best friends in the world. 

Beverly smiled, and rubbed his arm. “Yeah. So just look at Ben, and pretend you’re telling him and only him, and you’ll be fine.”

And then, he was walking out onto the stage. 

The lights and noise disoriented him, and he wobbled slightly as he approached the podium. The room was more packed than he had expected- no wonder it was so loud- and he felt his legs begin to shake. But then he caught sight of Ben. Ben ‘Haystack’ Hanscom was right in the front row, and although he was now a grown man, Richie swore he saw the little boy who had been one of his best friends and biggest supporters looking back at him with an encouraging smile. 

“Well,” he started, almost flinching at how loud his voice sounded in the many microphones attached to the podium, “this sure is awkward, huh?”

A soft laughter bubbled through the crowd, and after a second or so, most of the reporters were chuckling. Har de har har look at the trashmouth go, isn’t he a funny one? He just couldn’t help himself, it was almost pathetic. 

But then Richie was laughing too, if nothing else, because of how utterly surreal this felt. 

“Yeah! Hi!” he said, voice bright and cheery, sounding to him like it came from someone else’s mouth. 

After a few seconds of quietly laughing, probably confusing the life out of the journalists in the room, he got ahold of himself, remembering the severity of the situation. “Before I say anything else, I just want to formally apologise for anyone who had tickets to come see me on tour. Everything will be refunded, but the shows won’t be rescheduled-” this part had been written for him and well rehearsed, but remained the only part of his speech not written by him. He was finished with all the bullshit, all the lying. So he continued, deviating from the script given to him. “Honestly, right now I don’t know if I’m ever going on tour again.”

“And yeah, I’m gonna be really honest for this whole press conference- gross, right?” the crowd chuckled nervously, clearly unsure what kind of honesty they were about to receive. “Yeah, I don’t like it either. But I owe it to myself, that honesty. I haven’t let myself be honest in, well, the past thirty or so years.”

Although none of this was rehearsed, and Richie was making it up on the spot, it rang scarily true. This was for  _ him _ , this whole conference, it was so he could move on with his life, and not for the leeches out there waiting for a scoop. 

“So, here’s the thing, the big shabang, the reason you’re all out here with all your fuckin’ cameras and microphones.” Richie sucked in a deep breath and locked eyes with Ben, who smiled kindly, just radiating love and pride towards him. He could do this. 

“My name is Richie Tozier, and I’m gay.”

Instead of letting the room absorb his confession, keeping his serious expression, Richie dropped his mouth open and slapped his cheek, pretending to be shocked and then mouthing, ‘what the fuck?!’. He couldn’t help it, he was only human- or as human as his trashmouth persona could be. 

“Shocker, right? Who’d have thought the asshole who built his career on talking about tits like a fourteen year old would be a fairy.” 

The room erupted in quiet chatter, but Richie barely heard it. 

* * *

_ “That’s what you get for talking back you fuckin’ fairy!” Henry Bowers screamed into his face. It look everything in Richie not to flinch away, but he knew it would just make the older boy angrier.  _

_ Clutching his glasses (which now only had one arm, the other lying in the dirt somewhere where Bowers had thrown it) to his face, Richie stared at the older boy, praying he could keep his mouth shut until he was out of earshot.  _

_ “Get out of here! Get lost! Don’t come near my park again, because it’s fucking mine and I don’t want queers stinkin’ it up!” _

_ For once, Richie complied.  _

* * *

“Well, yep. There it is,” Richie coughed awkwardly, desperately shaking the flashback from his mind. He didn’t need to think about that shit, not now. “I’m just a big ol’ flamer- do people still say that shit anymore? Or has the slur gone out of fashion?” the audience listened politely but slightly uncomfortably; many of the reporters, Richie assumed, were not exactly part of the demographic that joke appealed to. “Anyway, sorry to all the older gays whose trauma I’ve probably triggered with that one but I guess it’s a good segway into my second bombshell, which I’m sure is even more shocking than the first one-” he paused for dramatic effect, “I was bullied real bad as a kid.”

The crowd properly laughed now, and as Richie scanned quickly across the faces staring back at him, he locked eyes with Ben, whose smile was as wide as Richie had ever seen it. 

“And I know none you really want to hear my sob story about how being bullied made me repress my sexuality so severely it made me breakdown on stage, but I guess that’s the truth.” Really, he knew that wasn’t the truth, but this was not a lie he felt bad about telling. After all, introducing the idea that he was called back to him hometown to fight a demon-clown would most likely get him institutionalised, and he could really do without that. 

“When I was just a baby gay myself, I got the shit beat out of me probably once a week, while my bullies yelled homophobic slurs at me.” he said, still not having completely processed that this was something he was telling the whole world. “To be fair, they used that language with pretty much everyone- all of my friends, at least, and most of them grew up to be all American hetros.” Richie’s eyes once again found Ben’s, who winked at him and threw him a thumbs up. “It just hit a nerve with me. I grew up in this tiny, shitty little town, and I don’t think I met a single queer person throughout my entire childhood.”

He sucked in a deep breath- it was getting harder and harder to tell this story in a controlled manner, and not let his emotions get the best of him. He he could do it. He  _ would  _ do it. Richie continued. “I thought I was completely alone. Y’know, I told my mom once, and she was the first person I told- I had literally no one else to talk to at this point- and she just told me I would grow out of it.”

* * *

_ For not the first time that summer, Richie furiously wiped tears off his dirty cheeks before opening the front door.  _ Get out of here faggot!  _ rang through his head like a curse, over and over and over again until it drove him near madness. And then there was the statue. That fuck ugly plastic thing, with it’s fading flannel shirt and impressive beard- he probably looked like every man in Derry before the logging industry died out. The industry may have died but the statue was still there, yes it was, and it knew what Richie was hiding. Well, it didn’t know, but It knew, and that was far worse. Maybe It could smell it on Richie, smell the queerness inside of him, taste it in the back of It’s throat. And maybe it meant the others knew too, maybe It would tell them and they would be disgusted to ever have chummed with him.  _

_ But in the end, what did it matter? They’d already left him anyway. Bill, his oldest and best friend, was no longer speaking to him. Big Bill, his protector, who always knew how to get him out of trouble had punched him, right in the jaw, then walked away. The others had followed. It was a pretty decent right-hook, too.  _

_ So Richie had no one. Now all he had was his dirty little secret, which apparently wasn’t so secret after all. Bowers knew, or at least he suspected.  _ It  _ knew. What was the point of even hiding it anymore? Richie didn’t know.  _

_ Still, he wiped his tears and evened his breathing to the best of his ability before stepping inside his house. His mother was home, and he didn’t want her to worry. _

_ He slunk through the front door. Normally, on a nice summer afternoon like this, Maggie would be in the backyard with a paperback propped between her freckled knees. Today, however, she was standing right in the middle of the living room, the telephone in one hand, the other running her fingertip across a page in the phone book. Seemingly having heard the front door open, she looked towards Richie, meeting his red eyes, which were only magnified by his coke-bottle glasses. Concern instantly passed over her expression. _

_ “Hi, mom.” Richie muttered, pushing past her and scurrying towards his bedroom, making an effort not to slam the door behind him.  _

_ Richie fell into his bed, exhausted from running and crying and hiding (always hiding), his glasses uncomfortably pressing into the bridge of his nose as he buried his face in the pillow. The tears came again as quickly as he had fought them away, and after no time at all he was silently weeping, his little heart breaking over the burden of having these feelings he didn’t even really understand yet.  _

_ The door cracked open and Maggie poked her head inside, waves of red hair framing her troubled face. “What’s goin’ on, Pigpen?” the nickname would usually have made Richie chuckle, but not today. He hoped that if he ignored her, she would leave him be. But she did not. Somewhat timidly, she stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her, perched on the edge of Richie’s bed. None of this Richie saw, only heard, but he knew his mom well. _

_ “Rich, baby, come talk to me and we can sort it out, whatever it is,” she now reached out and began rubbing his back, still seemingly unsure of what to do. Richie was a very happy kid, you see, and he was sure Maggie hadn’t seen him cry since he was a baby. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” _

_ She had a point, nothing was going to change and no one could help him if he kept it locked up inside. That wasn’t why Richie said what he said next, however. Truth being told, he was just tired. Tired of hiding and running and crying. Tired of being the happy kid with no problems apart from the occasional trip to the optometrist. Tired of being scared. This was his mom- how could she ever hate him? Sure, she told him he was disgusting when he went a few days without a bath or when he came home covered in dirt after a real good baseball game; but she never really meant it, she couldn’t mean it- she was his mom! If anyone could make him feel better, if anyone could take all his pain away, it would be her.  _

_ “Mama,” he said, the pillow muffling his voice. He then sat up, and looked into her eyes. Later, Richie would come to realise that the expression she held in that moment was one of fear. There was something about the look in her son’s eyes- so helpless and broken, but also with a hint of determination- that terrified her.  _

_ “Mama… I’m- I’m a queer. I’m gay.” He sobbed.  _

_ All he wanted was for her to pull him into her arms and rock him like she had when he was little. He didn’t know what he wanted her to say or do to make it all better (if she could even do anything at all)- he just wanted his mom.  _

_ Instead, she froze. The hand rubbing his back pausing mid-motion and her expression blank, unreadable. It felt like hours, years even, just sitting there staring at her with her staring at him, neither knowing what to say.  _

_ Then, “no, honey, you’re not.” Those four words stayed with him for the rest of his childhood. “You’ll grow out of it, okay? Lots of young boys have homosexual experiences- especially these days, Lord, you would never have seen it when I was growing up- but then they grow up and get married and have nice, happy families.” _

_ And how badly did Richie wish that were true. In his heart, he knew it wasn’t, he knew who he was, no matter how much he hated it. But this was his mom- why would she lie to him? Sure, he acted out in school sometimes, but Richie was a good boy, he listened to his mom. He loved her. He didn’t believe her, but he wanted to. So he told himself he did.  _

_ Richie nodded, then looked away.  _

_ “Look at me?” she asked, voice soft and comforting. He looked at her. “Don’t tell your dad about this conversation, alright?” Richie was a good boy, he listened to his mom. He nodded.  _

_ Maggie sighed, and shifted closer to her son so they now sat shoulder to shoulder on the bed Richie would grow out of after a growth spurt at fifteen. “You’ll be okay, Rich, you’re gonna be fine. You just wait, when you grow up, I bet you could even marry an actress, like that Molly Ringwald, what do you think?”  _

_ Her attempt to lighten the mood fell on deaf ears, and Richie just couldn’t help that he’d thought much more about marrying Keanu Reeves.  _

* * *

Richie hadn’t thought of his mother in years, not since he hired someone to deal with his finances, so he didn’t even receive the monthly bill for her nursing home costs anymore. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Derry had brought back more memories from his childhood than just that summer with the Losers. Still, it had been too long since he’d paid his mom a visit- perhaps this was something he should discuss with his therapist. He made a mental note of that, then realised he’d been silent long enough for the crowd to grow uncomfortable. 

“I love my mom, but I gotta say, Maggie, you kinda fucked up with that one. It really didn’t help.” he said, breaking the tension within the audience. That was enough about his family for one day, he decided. “But that’s all besides the point. The point is, I wasn’t alone, and if anyone out there listening to this feels like they’re in that place, I promise you that you aren’t either.”

Now came the hard part. Talking about himself was difficult enough, but this was going to be worse. Richie silently prayed he would not cry, not here, not in front of so many people.

He sighed, then began speaking again. “I thought I was alone, but I wasn’t. My best friend in the entire world, who I happened to be- and still am- head over heels in love with, was going through the same thing and neither of us knew it. Eddie passed very recently, and I think, more than anything, I owe it to him to say this.”

As much as he thought he was ready, dull pain still burst through his chest as he said  _ his _ name. He wondered if it would ever not hurt. He didn’t have high hopes, though. 

“This is going to sound so corny, and if Eds was still around he’d for sure roll his eyes at me for saying this, but he’s the love of my life.” the Eddie-shaped hole in his heart throbbed at the truth of that statement. Richie wasn’t even thinking about the press conference anymore. Fuck the press, it wasn’t like he even really cared about his image. But he had to say this. For himself, for Eddie. “I know that I deserve to move on and I deserve to be happy-” it was almost as if his therapist had begun speaking through his mouth, but that was what Richie paid for, he figured, “but I know in my heart that there’s no one else for me. I started loving him when we were twelve years old and I haven’t stopped yet, despite the fact that we went nearly thirty years without speaking- that’s a story for another day, though.”

* * *

_ “This song stinks, Rich.” Eddie said from behind his comic book, pulling a face Richie couldn’t see but knew was there all too well. _

_ Richie scoffed from where he was sprawled out on his stomach on the carpet of his bedroom, a foot or so from where Eddie sat cross-legged, his back resting against Richie’s bed. “Aw come on Eds, you gotta appreciate the B-52’s!” _

_ “It’s weird, the words don’t even make sense! What even is a rock lobster anyway?” _

_ Richie thought for a moment, but as his eleven-year-old mind could not conjure up an answer, he simply rolled his eyes and started singing along.  _

_ Eddie was silent, seemingly content with just reading while Richie yelled out lyrics, even if he pretended to find it annoying. Then after a moment, he turned the page of his comic and yelped in pain. “Shit! Papercut!” _

_ Richie jumped to action, putting on the granny impression he’d been working on. Although Eddie was sitting only a few inches away, he stood up and pretended to hobble towards the smaller boy, an invisible cane clutched in his right hand.  _

_ “I’ll fix ya right up, sonny!” he shrieked in the voice to fit the impression.  _

_ Kneeling down beside Eddie, he took Eddie’s hand in both of his and inspected the cut finger. It was bleeding a little, but not too badly.  _

_ With his free hand, Eddie searched his fanny pack for the bandaids he kept there, then hesitantly handed one to Richie. He was perfectly capable of doing it himself, but Richie was persistent if nothing else.  _

_ Pursing his lips so hard it was comical, Richie kissed the wound better.  _

_ “Ew! Richie that’s fucking gross! You’re gonna get my blood in your mouth or something!” Eddie squealed, trying to pull away from Richie, who just grinned. There was no point in fighting, Richie was much stronger, and they both knew it.  _

_ “No need to fret my dear, I’ll fix ya right up, dontcha worry about Granny,” Richie now concentrated on putting on the bandaid, making sure it would stick properly to his finger because, sure, he was kidding around, but he really did want his friend to feel better.  _

_ Eddie watched with such intensity as Richie applied the bandaid, and little Richie, desperate for all the attention he could get, beamed.  _

_ As he finished the task, he sat up and reached for Eddie’s cheek, pinching it softly enough for it not to hurt. “All done, Eds. Told ya Granny’d make it better!”  _

_ The smaller boy flushed bright red, partly in anger but partly something  _ else _. Something Richie did not pick up on until years later. He didn’t know why (Richie rarely knew where his impulses came from, just acted on them) but as he moved his hand away from Eddie’s cheek, he planted a big wet kiss there.  _

_ “Stop! Gross!” Eddie squealed, going even redder, if that were possible.  _

_ “Cute cute cute!” Richie shrieked back, now in his own voice, unable to keep the laughter out of his tone. “I can’t help it, Spaghetti, you’re just too adorable!” _

_ And then, as if by some divine intervention (although Richie doubted anything that would put these thoughts into his head could be divine), Richie stopped, and thought. He realised the teasing and the endless affection weren;t just to poke fun at the other boy. He found he really did mean it when he said Eddie was adorable, and he didn’t find it so gross to kiss his cheeks.  _

_ Richie remembered something Bill had told him a few weeks ago. About crushes. Bill had told him all about Sarah M. in their fifth grade class. How he had a crush on her. When Richie had asked him what that meant, what it felt like to have a crush, Bill had simply replied that having a crush on a girl meant wanting to be around her all the time, and you think she’s very pretty and you might want to marry her.  _

_ He hadn’t thought of Eddie then, but he did now.  _ You want to be around them all the time, _ of course he wanted to be around him all the time, but wasn’t that true for all best friends? _ You think they’re very pretty, _ well, he wasn’t sure about that one- only girls could be pretty. But Eddie was cute and he was sweet and he wasn’t ugly, far from it.  _ You might want to marry them. _ This was a tougher question for him to answer; at his young age Richie wasn’t sure he fully understood what marriage really meant. If it meant living together, and hanging out every day and eating dinner together every night, then of sure, he’d love to do that with Eddie. If it meant all of those things but sometimes they give each other kisses, like how his dad kissed his mom on the cheek when she made him his breakfast, then, well, he already gave Eddie kisses. If it meant being a mom and dad, having babies together, then maybe Richie wouldn’t want to marry Eddie. But his aunt Janie was married and she didn’t have any children, so maybe that wasn’t a requirement.  _

Yes. _ Richie thought,  _ I would like to marry Eddie when we grow up. 

_ Unsure of what it was about this thought that made him feel so uneasy, so  _ wrong _ , Richie shoved it out of his mind like he shoved his old toys into the back of his closet when he was bored with them. He could worry about this later. He had all the time in the world.  _

* * *

Richie coughed and ran a hand through his increasingly sweaty hair, trying with all his might to appear unaffected.  _ Bill was always so fucking straight, _ he thought to himself in an attempt to lighten the mood. It worked, and he quietly chuckled to himself before getting back to his story. 

“So Eddie was the one to spark my gay panic, and by the time I was thirteen I had kind of just accepted the fact that I was in love with him, but I couldn’t ever tell him because he’d think I was disguisting and would never talk to me again. Anyone who’s ever had a crush on one of their friends will probably understand this.” a few faces in the audience nodded sympathetically, but it was Ben who smiled at him with such understanding it comforted Richie. “He was my best friend after all, I couldn’t lose him. I had nightmares about him turning on me and joining my bullies, even though they bullied him just as badly; he was this scrawny little fucker with an inhaler, and I had essentially the same glasses as I’m wearing now, but on a tiny kid-face- the pair of us were just bully-magnets.” Richie wished he could laugh, but he found the joke was far too true to be funny. 

“Anyway, that whole time I spent repressing my gay-ass feelings for him, it turns out he was doing the same thing.”

* * *

_ “I wish I could just go with you,” Eddie muttered, and Richie froze.  _

_ The junior prom was rapidly approaching, and neither Richie nor Eddie had found a date. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; Richie was taking Beverly as his date, mostly for fun, so they could be, in Bev’s words, _ the coolest fucking couple in the whole joint!  _ Of course Richie  _ said  _ this was why, and he  _ said  _ he just wasn’t interested in dating before college, but he knew deep down that there was only one person he would want to take, and that would never happen in a million years.  _

_ Eddie, however, was very concerned with finding the perfect girl to accompany him. He’d grown into his looks as he’d gotten older, having grown a few inches and his face having become more angular- he’d always been the most handsome person in the room in Richie’s opinion, it was just that, now, other people were realising it too. By other people, he meant girls.  _

_ So it wasn’t as if no one wanted to go to prom with Eddie (Richie could think of at least five girls who would probably faint if he asked them) it was that none of them were good enough for him. Michelle from business studies was too short and Claire from homeroom was too tall (even though they stood around the same height). Polly from maths’ eyes were too doe-like and Anna from biology was too shy. Richie didn’t see what the problem was with any of them, they were all reasonably pretty and nice enough. They seemed to get along with Eddie just fine. But Eddie was finicky about pretty much everything, so Richie didn’t take much notice.  _

_ This afternoon, the pair were sat together inside the clubhouse hammock while the rest of the losers were off doing more important things. They were getting much too big to both fit inside, what with the massive growth spurt Richie had and the less extreme but still significant one Eddie was going through. The worn fabric now sagged dangerously close to the floor as it supported both of their weight, but neither boy seemed to mind much.  _ Creatures of habit, _ Richie figured.  _

_ Eddie’s off-white socks pressed up against his cheek, and Richie let Eddie’s statement wash over him. _ ‘I wish I could just go with you’, well that makes two of us, Eds.  _ But unlike Richie, Eddie didn’t mean it. Well, at least Richie thought so at the time. God, it was so insensitive of him- how could he just throw that out there like it meant nothing? How could he not tell that his words made Richie’s heart start to race and his palms pool with sweat? Eddie would never understand. He would never know what it was like to want something so badly but know you can’t have it. That familiar shame-mixed-with-anger rumbled around in Richie’s belly until he forced himself to look up from the paperback he was trying to concentrate on (unsuccessfully) and look Eddie in the eyes.  _

_ For a moment, he thought he saw a nervous kind of anticipation in Eddie’s eyes and a light blush upon his now pronounced cheekbones. And holy shit did he look beautiful like that. But it must have just been a trick of the light, or wishful thinking, because Eddie would never be nervous saying something like that to Richie.  _

_ “Yeah, well,” Richie started, forgetting to hide his annoyance a second too late, “you can’t. That’s life, babe-ey, get used to it. You should take that mousey chick- is it Anne? Annie?” _

_ “Anna.” Eddie interrupted, tone stripped of emotion. _

_ “Yeah, Anna. Take her, you’d be the perfect nervous duo, ain’t that right?”  _

_ Eddie looked down and began to pick at his cuticles. “Sure.” he offered meekly, not jabbing back at Richie for his not-so-kind remarks like he normally would.  _

He’s just butthurt that I don’t care about his girl-drama, _ Richie thought.  _

_ But secretly, he hoped Eddie really had wanted to go with him. He hoped that Eddie had also dreamed about twirling him around on the dance floor in front of everyone, willing to deal with the consequences of that later on, but in that moment not giving a shit what anyone else thought. He hoped Eddie had also fantasized about driving him home from the dance at eleven, curfew time, and giving him a quick peck on the lips before he got out of the car.  _

_ Richie shook his head in a way he hoped was subtle. These were stupid fantasies- kid stuff, really- and wouldn’t happen. Eddie wouldn’t want them to happen. Because Eddie was going to go to the dance with AnneAnnieAnna and twirl her around while no one stared because that was perfectly normal, and then he’d take her home and kiss her before she went back to see her parents, maybe he’d even make-out with her, maybe even- no. That hurt too much for Richie to think about, even if it was likely to happen. But Richie wouldn’t be there, he wouldn’t have to see what Eddie did with girls in private and so Richie could just ignore it, just pretend it wasn’t happening. After all, was pretty good at that.  _

* * *

It was all so obvious in retrospect, but hindsight is twenty/twenty, Richie figured. 

“I wish I had known. I just really fucking wish I had known so that we wouldn’t have wasted so much fucking time being miserable.” The joke was over, and none of it was funny anymore. He supposed he probably shouldn’t swear so much, but fuck it, who was going to stop him?

He hadn’t talked so much about Eddie since his passing, and honestly, it was getting pretty overwhelming. He would have liked very much to call it a day and go home to finish the bottle of scotch Dave had bought him when he agreed to the press conference. But he knew he couldn’t. He knew he had to do this, even if it was going to hurt.  _ This better be fucking worth it,  _ he thought. 

“So, Eddie. He married a woman right out of college, lived his whole life pretending to be straight.” Richie paused, adding, “I guess I did, too, but I never got fuckin’ married, y’know?” as an afterthought of sorts. “Yeah, his life was shit. And then he died. As he was dying, he told me he loved me. And then he just fucking died.”

* * *

_ Everyone was gone, and it was just Eddie and Richie, Richie and Eddie. Just the two of them. It would have been nice, maybe, that alone time, if it weren’t for the gaping hole in Eddie’s chest.  _

_ “Richie,” Eddie started weakly, clutching the hand Richie had pressed against his wound tighter than Richie thought he was capable of. “I gotta tell you something, man.” _

_ “Yeah, buddy, what is it?” Richie replied, desperate to hear anything from Eddie’s mouth that told him he would be okay. Richie was, if nothing else, the master of denial.  _

_ Eyes staring off somewhere in the distance, worryingly unfocused, Eddie said, “I fucked your mother.” before breaking into a fit of soft laughter that quickly turned into shallow coughs. Richie just pressed down on his chest harder, his knuckles white around his blood-soaked jacket.  _

_ “I think I’m dying, Rich.” Eddie muttered after that moment of silence, now looking Richie dead in the eyes.  _

_ Richie just shook his head violently. “No. You’re okay, you’re fine. You’re not fucking dying on me, okay?”  _

_ Eddie smiled sadly, and although Richie knew he was in physical pain, he suspected he saw a great deal of hurt in Eddie’s eyes that had nothing to do with his injuries.  _

_ “Will you hold me? Please? I don’t wanna die on my own.” _

No, because you’re not dying,  _ he thought. Instead, he silently agreed, pulling Eddie into his lap and curling his free arm around his back, fully embracing him. After all, he could never deny Eddie anything, not really.  _

_ “Can I tell you a secret?” Eddie whispered, lifting a bloody hand to cup Richie’s cheek. Richie realised he was wiping tears away, and suddenly became aware that he was crying.  _

_ “Anything, Eds.” he meant that, anything. He would do anything for him. _

_ “I think I’m gay.” _

_ “Was my mom really that bad in bed?” Richie quipped back, without even thinking. For a second, he considered taking it back. But this was Eddie. Eddie and Richie, Richie and Eddie, always pulling each other’s pigtails, so why would it be different now? _

_ “I wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure until I saw you walk into that restaurant the other night. But I think I get why I’ve been so miserable my whole life, now.”  _

_ And there it was, the words Richie had spent his whole life waiting for, whether he was aware of it or not. Eddie was gay and Eddie maybe loved him. But of course, since God had decided to take a big ol’ steaming shit on the life of Richie Tozier, Eddie probably wouldn’t make it long enough for that to matter.  _

_ Despite that (he could worry about that later, he had all the time in the world) Richie felt himself begin to smile, tears still streaming down his face.  _

_ “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not but I’ll take it anyway.” he said, pulling Eddie’s head closer so he could rest his chin on top of it. “I love you. A lot. In a gay way.” he whispered.  _

_ Eddie was fading fast, and the grip he had on Richie’s hand was slackening, his voice now so faint, Richie probably wouldn’t be able to hear it if his mouth wasn’t so close to Richie’s ear. “Eloquent. How the fuck does anyone think you write your own material?”  _

_ Somewhere in the distance, Bill was shouting for Richie to join him. It sounded important, and Richie sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to lose another friend today. He had to go, he had to help the others. Eddie wasn’t going to die, because he was the strongest little asshole Richie had ever met.  _

_ As he started to stand, Eddie feebly gripped onto him. “Richie, wait,” Richie did wait, and looked into Eddie’s big brown eyes as he tried to focus them on Richie’s own. “I love you too. Probably more than you’re ever going to know.” _

_ Bill was shouting louder now, and Eddie’s hold on him slackened.  _

_ “I’m coming back, and you’re going to be fine, alright?” Eddie nodded, but Richie could tell he wasn’t convinced. He didn’t blame him, he wasn’t convinced either.  _

_ A few minutes later- no one could tell exactly when- Eddie died.  _

* * *

It was too much, too painful, despite the chatter in the room all Richie could hear was the voice of his love vibrating through his brain, his soul. the last words he’d ever hear him say. He was faintly aware that he was crying now.  _ Great, fucking great, Richie Tozier’s second public breakdown will be posted on BuzzFeed tomorrow morning and everywhere else by afternoon.  _

From the corner of his eye, Richie saw Beverly and Dave in the wings of the stage watching him worriedly. When he looked over, Bev shot him a reassuring look, one that said she was proud of what he had done so far, but there was no shame in stopping. 

But he refused to give up, he would push through the tears and keep going. 

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck,” he said weakly, rubbing at his damp eyes, “it’s just. If things were different, if we were a man and a woman, maybe all this repression and hiding wouldn’t have happened and we would have been together. Maybe he still would have died far too soon, but he would have been happy,” that familiar rage boiled up inside of him, the feeling of injustice coursing through his veins and  _ it’s just not fair,  _ blared through his mind. “The truth is, Eddie lived a miserable life that he hated and it just wasn’t him, and he never got the chance to be happy. Now I have to live the rest of my life knowing that Eddie, my Eddie Spaghetti, the sweetest little boy in the whole goddamn world and the best man I’ve ever met, died without ever getting to be really, truly happy. And honestly, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to do that.”

A violent sob wracked through his chest and Richie almost had to stop, or he thought he might collapse. 

“I know this is meant to be about me, and I’m sorry for how I’ve derailed it-” he turned his attention to Dave, who looked as if he was about to throw up (Richie couldn’t exactly blame him)- “but I’m trying really hard to get over how unfair this all is. And I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can move on from this, I-”

The hysteria took over and Richie was no longer making sense. His knees were too weak to sustain him and he clutched the podium far too tightly, his body sagging against it as he just sobbed. 

Richie wasn’t really aware of what happened next, but it seemed as if Beverly had come onto the stage, also in tears, and dragged him off, sitting him down in a plastic chair they had set up in the wings. 

He heard Dave’s voice booming through the microphones at the podium, “we’re just going to take five, folks, thanks for your patience.”

“Breathe, baby, breathe,” Richie heard Bev’s voice in his ear, and he became aware that she was right in front of him, right in his personal space but he didn’t want that he couldn’t  _ breathe  _ and everyone was too close too close but too far and he couldn’t see and-

* * *

_ Really, Richie was just being dramatic. He hadn’t even been hit that badly- he’d received a decently hard punch to the stomach, which now dully ached, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was probably far more used to Bowers’ insanity than any fourteen-year-old kid should be.  _

_ Still, his glasses had been broken. Snapped right in the middle where the bow was already weak from where they’d been glued back together the last time this had happened. God, his mom was going to kill him.  _ This is the third time this year, Richard,  _ he could just hear her saying,  _ we’re not made of money, you know!  _ He was already overly cautious around her, and while they had both agreed to not speak of _ that  _ conversation from a few weeks ago, he knew she hadn’t forgotten. Maybe this would be the last straw for her, the thing that sends her over the edge and sends him away to military school like his father had threatened so many times (yet never seemed to want to follow through with).  _

_ It all felt like far too much for him to handle. The physical pain mixed with the guilt he felt for costing his parents another few shifts of overtime all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His glasses clutched inside his clammy hands, a reminder that he’d fucked up  _ again _.  _

_ He managed to keep it together until he got to the clubhouse (he couldn’t go home and run the risk of his mother seeing him in tears again, not this time) before completely breaking down in the kind of crying that physically hurt. _

_ Richie wasn’t sure how long he was down there on his own just weeping, but after what he thought to be a reasonably short amount of time, the sound of soft patter of footsteps coming down the ladder became apparent.  _

_ As Eddie’s face appeared in the dimly lit clubhouse, it was clear neither boy really knew what to do. At first, Richie thought he should pretend to be fine, and maybe it wouldn’t end up being as awkward as it had to potential to be. But his sobs weren’t exactly quiet, and he was almost certain Eddie had heard before he reached the bottom of the ladder. _ In a second he’ll start laughing and then call me a pussy, _ Richie thought anxiously,  _ but then I’ll think of something to say back and we’ll just be arguing like normal, it won’t be so bad.

_ For a moment, Eddie just stood stiffly at the bottom of the ladder, eyes scanning over Richie, presumably in an attempt to figure out what exactly was wrong. But he didn’t laugh, didn’t say  _ anything,  _ and that made Richie incredibly nervous. He turned away and Richie could no longer see his face or his expression, and then a terrible thought crept into his mind;  _ this isn’t Eddie. Right now, Eddie’s at home reading comics and I’m in here with It. 

_ Before he could spiral further, Eddie was hovering somewhat tentatively over where he sat in the hammock, and relief flooded Richie’s mind. He was holding out an icepack from the cooler they kept down there for this very reason, and Richie took it with his hands shaking slightly. This couldn’t be It. It could never make Richie’s heart flutter with just the brush of his knuckles against Richie’s. It could never look at Richie with such intensity in it’s big brown doe eyes, could never make it clear how much it cared for the taller boy without having to say a thing.  _

_ As Richie took the ice pack and pressed it against his stomach, Eddie pried the remains of his glasses out of his hands. He was still silent and Richie didn’t really know what to do with that. He felt as if, if he started talking, it would ruin whatever was happening here- this only confused him more, and he felt himself begin to question what  _ was  _ happening here.  _

_ Richie watched as Eddie pulled a mini tube of superglue out of his fanny pack ( _ why the hell would he need that in there? _ ) and applied it to the snapped edge of the bow with steady hands. He glued the glasses back in place and set them down on the ground a few feet from the hammock so they could dry undisturbed. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but they should hold for a while at least.  _

_ Finished with the task, Eddie hesitated, before squishing his little body into the hammock practically on top of Richie instead of going top to tail how they usually would.  _

_ From the relieved exhale Richie felt where Eddie’s cheek was pressed against his shoulder, in retrospect he would realise that Eddie’s silence had been out of fear for Richie. Later on, this thought would make him smile, but for now Richie just felt the familiar sensation of butterflies churning up his stomach that he always felt when Eddie was too close. It didn’t bother him, though, and in that moment he was very thankful for the physical affection.  _

_ “We’ll help you get new glasses, Rich,” he said, breaking the silence. Eddie’s eyes, far too big for his head, bore into Richie’s with that same intensity as before. He looked so serious, the opposite of comforting, and that made Richie’s face crack into a tiny smile. It was just so  _ Eddie _ , how could he not? _

_ “And where are you gonna get the money for that, dingus?” Richie quipped back, yelping when Eddie kicked his shin.  _

_ “I don’t know. I’ll get a job or something. The rest of the losers can help too, it won’t be so much if we split it.” they probably both knew that this was unrealistic, but it was the thought that counted, and Richie did appreciate it.  _

_ Obviously, Richie was still upset. His stomach hurt and he could barely see with his glasses resting on the ground. But Eddie was right there with him, and that made him feel a little better. Because at the end of the day, Richie knew he could rely on Eddie to be there, to get him out of trouble and help when he felt helpless. He also felt confident that he would be there for Eddie no matter what, too.  _

_ In that moment, Richie only knew one thing for sure, and that was that he loved Eddie with his whole being. He loved Eddie and he never wanted to stop, just wanted that feeling to last forever, no matter how wrong other people thought it was. He just loved him, pure and simple.  _

* * *

Before today, Richie had not remembered that day in the clubhouse. It was almost as if, somewhere up there, Eddie had sent him that memory to let him know he was still looking out for him. Maybe this wasn’t true, but it was a comforting thought, and it helped Richie get his breathing under control. 

His vision swam back as someone handed him a glass of water- probably Bev, but his gaze remained solidly on the glass, mostly out of embarrassment at his freak-out from moments ago- and he gulped it down while his hands shook slightly. 

He was okay. He was sitting in a chair in the wings surrounded by people who cared about him (well, only three people really, but still) and he was alive. He had a real chance to make a difference, not just change his own life but maybe help out some other people who were in as dark a place as he had been before. He would not waste this chance, Eddie wouldn’t want him to. 

“Thanks, Bev,” he muttered, now looking up into her worried face. “I’m gonna go back out there.”

“Whoa, hold on, are you sure?” she asked. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good to go.”

Bev nodded (she probably thought it was a bad idea, but knew better than to try and stop Richie from doing something he had his mind set on) and Richie stood on somewhat shaky legs, making his way towards the stage again. 

As soon as Dave spotted him, he clutched his hands together in a praying motion seemed to be thanking some deity. Richie rolled his eyes but a smile ghosted his lips. 

“You right, man?” he asked his manager. 

Dave’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “ _ Yes _ . I will be as soon as you get out there again and settle those sons of bitches down. Fuck me, they’re practially rioting-” then he realised this was not the thing to say to a man who had just come out of a panic attack on stage and was about to go back out- “I mean, nah, you’re fine. You’ll be fine. You got this, Rich, I believe in you, man.”

Richie chuckled a little breathlessly. “Thanks. I’ll see you on the other side, I guess.”

And then he was back on stage, and the roaring crowd quietened. 

“Man, I’m such a fuckin’ pussy!” he exclaimed, relaxing the audience and getting a few laughs. “Sorry guys, but I’m going to get this next part out without crying, because it’s important and I need to say it.”

He sucked a deep breath in, and continued. “Anyone out there hearing this, use this as an example of what not to do. If you’re questioning, tell someone. Don’t let it eat you up inside. And if you tell someone and it goes badly, tell someone else. Eventually you’re gonna find out that everything you were terrified of, probably isn’t going to happen. Your friends and family will most likely love and accept you. And if they don’t, you find yourself some new friends, because a found family is a hell of a lot better than your real family. Then you have the opportunity to let yourself be happy.” 

“There’s something an old friend once said to me, and I think it’s pretty important,” Richie thought of Stan, and how right now he was probably at home doing puzzles or gardening- something fucking lame and wholesome, but very him. This made him smile. “Be who you want to be. Be proud. And if you find someone worth holding onto, never,  _ ever  _ let them go.”

The irony of it all hit him like a truck. “But, if you’re an idiot like me, just know that things will get better eventually.” this next part of the speech still felt like lies, like falsities he’d made up in his head to help himself cope. But deep down he knew it was true and important to say. “I’m hurting right now, very badly, and it feels like I’ll never get over it. But I will. I’ve got the best support system a guy could ask for, and I may seem old,” he gestured to his gut, which was no longer as flat as it had been in his twenties, “but I’ve got a couple more years ahead of me to heal and learn how to be myself- the real me, not just the person I want people to see me as.”

“Eddie wouldn’t want me to wallow in self-pity, and I think he would be proud of me for doing this,” it was true, he really did think Eddie would be proud. He still couldn’t shake the thought that he would probably would have loved to be here to see it, though. But like a true comedian, when in pain Richie had to crack a joke, “well, no, he’d say something like, ‘well Trashmouth, now no one’s going to believe you when you say you fucked my mom.’”

The audience laughed accordingly, and he caught Ben’s eyes. It appeared he was fighting tears, and Richie had to look away or he thought he might start crying again too. 

“I’m waffling again. In summary, I’m a gay and stupid. That’s pretty much it. Oh, I also don’t write my own material- probably should have said that sooner.” a few members of the audience gasped and suddenly it felt as if there were even more cameras and microphones being held up towards him. “I’m done with that, though. I’m taking a break to get my life back together, but if I come back, or I guess  _ when  _ I come back, I’m changing it up. Not sure what I’m going to do yet, but it’ll be me. The real me.”

Richie paused to let that all sink in, partly for the reporters to process the information but mostly for himself, reveling in the fact that he did it. He was out. If only eleven-year-old Richie could see him now. 

“Okay, yeah, I think that’s everything. Thanks to everyone who came out to see me, I appreciate it. Thank you all.”

Before he could walk off the stage, looking towards the back of the room where the door was, Richie caught sight of a cheeky little grin he would be able to recognise anywhere. The door to the conference room opened and shut much too fast for a normal person to have left the room, but Richie swore he saw a flash of little red shorts and fluffy brown hair. His face split into a grin. He had been right before- of course Eddie was still looking out for him. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world. Richie was glad that, in the end, he hadn’t missed it at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> leave kudos and a comment if u enjoyed hehe
> 
> im on twitter: @pattyurls 
> 
> ty for reading !!


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